Something
by KyaniteD
Summary: She's the mirror that lets me look behind whatever is blocking my view. xxx Femslash. Serious. No smut. JanewayXBorg Queen, B'ElannaXSeven.


**Fandom**: Star Trek: Voyager  
**Author**: KyaniteD  
**Title**: Something  
**Pairing**: T/7, J/BQ  
**Rating**: PG-13 (Fiction Rating: T)  
**Beta**: Lilian aka lishesque

**Disclaimer**: Star Trek is the property of Paramount. The story is mine.

* * *

SOMETHING

.  


Nothing. Nothing but silence, and nothing. Out there, it's cold. But when I touch these windows, they're warm. It's a welcoming, pleasant warmth, contradicting the picture and what it represents.

She is here, in my quarters, in my room.

I had wondered if She was warm. She looked so cold.

Many called Seven the ice queen. But back then, I realized all Seven could ever be was a frost princess; after all, she was not like this, she could never be. There was beauty when she smiled, and an aura of likable innocence and fragility. The way she interacted with Naomi won her many hearts, and the doctor's advances earned her quite some sympathy.

Then, when I saw Her, I knew Seven could never be ice queen when She was present.

And present She is now, aboard this ship, in the captain's quarters.

I knew I was playing with fire, literally, every time I assigned Seven to help out in Main Engineering. Sparks were flying whenever these two were assigned to work together. Usually both ended up fuming - Seven inwardly, and B'Elanna... sometimes I could have sworn I saw steam coming from her nostrils.

She's sitting there, and I can feel Her eyes on me. It's nothing that makes me nervous; I know Her look is untainted by emotions of any kind - no danger at all. She is merely watching me. Curiosity? I wonder. I wish?

Is this how B'Elanna felt?

There is a comfort in Her presence I know I shouldn't feel.

She makes me want. She feeds me when She's here, but She leaves me hungry.  
And She does nothing.

Seven had sparked and fed a fire within B'Elanna that was nothing like the ember glow between her and Tom. He noticed before anyone else did. At first, he was only joking about it, but I think he already had a notion where things were heading.

After Seven had left, B'Elanna realized that with Seven gone something vital was missing. She noticed how dull everything seemed, how cowardly and linearly things were going when she was The Chief - an unchallenged authority just because of the pips at the collar of her uniform.

Been there, done that. I am the captain of this vessel.

She seemed to retreat inwardly, unconsciously, as if she was trying to fill the void that had suddenly opened inside her. Telling her that Seven had wanted to go, that she hadn't been abducted, that there wouldn't be a rescue party, hadn't really helped things.

And She, who is watching me now, told me that Seven had been suffering as well. That she had been permanently questioning procedures and methods, as if her primary intention had been to pick a fight instead of completing a task or solving a problem.

How anyone could say they were like fire and ice was beyond me when they needed each other like this. Fire and tinder would have been a better image. Fire died with nothing to feed on, and tinder didn't burn without a spark.

I wonder what kind of chemistry keeps us meeting like this. There is no spark, no fire, no warmth. But something has to be there, doesn't it? Just... something.

They need each other. We need each other. We need them, and they need us. This is the reason why we haven't been assimilated - yet.

B'Elanna, the fire; Seven, the tinder. We, the creativity; they, the resources.

What does that make us.

Allies? We're more than that, and less. Something much smaller.  
Something I can feel.

My hand is still resting on the window. She hasn't moved.

"How do you see me?"

"Thermal filter."

I smile. It's these things that astound me. It's not the way She answered my question. I did not expect anything else, I didn't even think about a different meaning to my question. It's the way our minds seem to be occupied with the same subject. We never think the same.  
That would not be possible, given the circumstances. But we think about the same things. Our minds do not join in opinions, but our thoughts meet in the same focal point.  
She's the mirror that lets me look behind whatever is blocking my view. I'm human, after all. She doesn't understand, but She accepts.  
She needs us. We have access to a dimension of reasoning and motivation they have forsaken.

Even though She may not.

She had offered Seven information, knowledge, and our safety in exchange for her return.  
She wanted her back. She missed her.

I understand, because I missed Seven, too, when she was gone. Seven is like a daughter to me. But essentially, she is Her child, too.

We were parents fighting for the affection of our child. And now we realize we both lost.

B'Elanna had won, hands down, not as a parent or a mentor, but as a lover, as an equal, with traits neither of us had to offer.

And now we are here. Each of us with a large family to protect and we need the other to succeed. The hostility of this truly godless corner of space forced us to go on together.

"What do you think?"

She had argued that verbal communication was inefficient. I agreed, but I still refused to have the brainwave transmitter implanted, even if She would have been the only one who could have "heard" me or "talked" to me. Some things are better left untold. And I do not want to censor my own thoughts. Not like that.

"I think we should give them our blessing."

I turn around and look at her. Her artificial body, her exoskeleton, her armor, the grey skin and the various tubes protruding from Her head - I had found it repulsive.  
I still don't consider it "aesthetically pleasing", but I don't care anymore.  
This is only the physical manifestation of what I really want: Her mind, Her presence.

We share a sorrow, a pain and a love; and we face a challenge together.

I don't think I have ever felt so close to someone, without being... physically close to them.

She looks so cold. Is She warm, I wonder?

She lifts her hand towards me and I take it, and the way she pulls me closer to Her - it's almost gentle and I follow without resistance. She remains seated as I stand beside Her and She intently studies my palm.

Her eyes move to my wrist and sometimes I wish I could see what She sees. But I have refused the connection that would have made it possible.

"I'm sorry."

I feel Her lips on the pulse point of my wrist.  
I know that this is the only way for Her to experience a sensation similar to what we feel with our fingertips.

"It's alright." I lean down and brush my lips against Her forehead.

"You're warm." I smile.

"You knew that."

"I just have to make sure."

"Every day?"

"Yes."

"Are you afraid?"

"No. Not anymore."

"You should be."

"I know."

"Was Lieutenant Torres afraid?"

"Very."

"She despises us. But she still chose Seven of Nine as her mate."

"They saved each other. And now they complement each other."

"Like we do."

"No, not really. Our crews saved one another, and we complement each other, but we're both beyond saving."

Her artificial thumb moves over the inside of my wrist.

"I'm sorry," She repeats.  
---


End file.
